


Don't treat me like a god (treat me like a dog)

by Diablerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Dirty Talk, Bestiality, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Implied Relationships, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Negotiated Kink, Other, Rimming, Shapeshifter Stiles, Spanking, Stiles is the dog - this is not a spoiler, Versatile Peter, Voyeurism, expanded warning in the end notes, tags to be added as the story updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablerie/pseuds/Diablerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter did not attend his great-nephew’s birthday party with the intent of acquiring a dog, but that’s exactly what seemed to be happening.</p><p>He definitely didn't plan on committing all this bestiality either, but you know what they say about plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts).



> I want to thank Sociallyawkwardfangirl21, Taylor, and Elpie (again/always). You three are such a help and comfort to me. You encourage all of my worst ideas and fix my mistakes. Bless you for that.
> 
> Additional thanks go to Cannibalinc for looking over this chapter, too.
> 
> The title comes from the song [Señorita by James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GIEdAUQjfc), but the song has nothing to do with the plot.
> 
> \---
> 
> This is me finally fulfilling the deal I made with Sociallyawkwardfangirl21 for that thing she wrote for me back in November. I have no idea how long this will be, but I wanted to post the first chapter. Hopefully, the rest will follow at a decent rate, but I know better than to promise fast updates.
> 
> **warnings and some setting notes at the end**

 

Peter did not attend his great-nephew’s birthday party with the intent of acquiring a dog, but that’s exactly what seemed to be happening. At first, it appeared as though the dog, a tricoloured shepherd, might have belonged to one of the other families visiting the park, yet none of them ever called it by name or expected it to follow. On closer inspection, it was underfed and lacked a collar - clearly a stray.

 

Just to make his life more interesting, it growled and raised its hackles at everyone, but refused to leave Peter alone. For the last hour, he had a dedicated dog-shaped shadow tripping him up and begging for scraps. Maybe feeding it the first time had been his mistake, but Peter could see the thing’s ribs. He wasn't a complete _monster_ no matter Derek’s gloomy claims.

 

“Shoo.” Peter narrowed his eyes at the grinning mutt. It was _mocking_ him with its stupid, canine grin.

 

“He loves you, Uncle Peter,” squealed James. “Maybe you can be his alpha, like Grandma is our alpha.”

 

“Yeah, Peter. Maybe you should take him home for company. Mom’s always saying it’s unnatural for you to be alone so much.”

 

Peter sniffed. “I doubt that’s what she means, and I hardly need the company of some half-feral mutt, Laura. Bite your tongue.”

 

The dog let out a pathetic whine and licked at the hand dangling within reach, almost like it knew Peter had insulted him. He glared down unimpressed at its huge, sad,  _lying_ eyes and said, “Manipulative little shit.”

 

“You made it sad, and said a bad word, Uncle Peter.”

 

“Yeah, Uncle Peter,” Laura hissed. “Ix-nay on the earing-sway while in front of the five year old.”

 

At this point, Talia swooped in to make it better. For a rather loose definition of ‘make it better’. If pressed he couldn’t recount the exact sequence of events; but when it’s all said and done, the cake had been cut, the presents dispersed, and Peter found himself agreeing to adopt his new friend.

 

“I still don’t want to take you home.” Peter said as it sat with tongue lolling, waiting for him to open the car door. “And don’t make a mess.”

 

The dog ignored his dire mutterings and flounced into the passenger seat where it pranced in place before promptly gnawing on the seat belt buckle.

 

“I’m a chauffeur for a dog.” He grumbled. “What new lows will I discover?”

 

In lieu of an answer, the dog stretched across the gear shift and licked his elbow in consolation. His lip curled at the feeling of dog saliva dripping down his arm.

 

“You’re a charming fellow aren’t you?”

 

The dog simply kept lapping at his elbow and exposed arm until they stopped at the store for the immediately required pet supplies. Surprisingly, it allowed Peter to buckle himself back in before lunging over to greet him with slobbery, dog kisses. The remaining fifteen minute drive went by quietly except for the occasional happy bark. The still nameless dog watched in seeming fascination as Peter parked the car and tamely waited for the passenger side door to open before jumping out to wait at his feet.

 

“Hm. At least you’re well-behaved. I would be so lucky if you’re already housebroken.”

 

The dog barked once and started to guide him towards the door. Peter couldn’t hold in his laughter at the absurdity of a collie herding a werewolf. “You’re a strange, brave dog. Perhaps this won’t be a completely terrible partnership.”

 

The dog herded him inside with minimal nipping at his heels. If this was an accurate sampling of its behavior, then Peter could sense a future of dog drool stretched out before him, as far as the mind’s eye could see. Joy.

 

“Stay.” He said firmly. “I need to go back out since _someone_ saw fit to herd me inside before I could unload the car.”

 

He frowned when it whined and took a few tentative steps toward the open door. “ _Stay_ , dog.”

 

Peter waited a few seconds to see if it would obey, but the dog huffed and gave him its back. Of course, he wound up with a sulky, little attention whore for a dog; still… some encouragement might not go amiss.

 

"Good dog.”

 

* * *

 

Once Peter finished making a place for food and water bowls - and _maybe_ a toy or three - he scowled down at the dog who persisted in slinking around his legs and licking at his bare feet. He was absolutely not charmed at all by the creature’s - perfectly understandable - infatuation.

 

“If you’re going to be living here, then you’re going to be _clean_. You’re filthy. I almost didn’t let you ride in my car.”

 

The dog finally lost interest in licking Peter’s toes and was thirstily lapping up water with the single-minded intensity it seemed to pursue all its interests. After drinking its fill, the dog darted for the rawhide toy and dropped it in front of Peter, tail wagging furiously as he gazed up in dumb adoration. Peter sighed and unbent enough to pat its head in thanks. Perhaps with proper training the urge to give him things could be channeled into useful behavior.

 

He gave one last pat to the silky fur, and whistled sharply. At the sound, the dog quivered in attention, ready for his command.

 

“Hm. Definitely not a stray,” he murmured with renewed hope that it might already be housebroken. “Follow me. There’s a boy.”

 

Peter barely took a step before the dog was, once again, plastered to the side of his leg. Bemused he shook his head, at least he’d never need to worry about losing track of the animal - he only hoped that it wouldn’t have an adverse reaction to water. The bathroom wasn’t due another cleaning for three more days.

 

“You’re already causing me a lot of trouble, dog.” He frowned. “I suppose you’ll need a name before too long. I ought to call you Fucker, but Talia would want me to _think of the children_ , Peter. We need to be responsible role models.” He mimicked her voice with the ease of long practice.

 

“What we needed was for her to learn the proper usage of a goddamned prophylactic and pass that knowledge on to my dear nieces and nephews. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “we can’t change the past can we?”

 

The dog barked twice and nudged him companionably.

 

“Of course you agree. You’re clearly a dog of discerning taste if you like me so much, and here we are,” Peter announced as he pushed open the door to the hallway bathroom. He made a moue of distaste at the thought of wet dog on his memory foam rugs, but better a few extra loads of laundry than the continued reek of filthy dog. Besides, he needed to check for ticks and any other parasitic friends. The thing was probably crawling with fleas anyway. He was definitely taking the car in to be detailed _posthaste_.

 

Thinking back on the dog’s tame behavior, Peter pointed at the over-sized tub and said, “Sit.” It jumped in without hesitation and sat.

 

“Good boy.” He muttered, grudgingly pleased. It seemed that the universe had seen fit to gift him with an already trained dog. “Now I’m going to start the water, and you’re going to cooperate with this bath and not shake water everywhere. We’re going to use my shampoo because I’m not subjecting myself to the chemical stench of animal soap.”

 

Peter unhooked the shower head and started the water, though he was careful to keep the cold spray pointed away from the dog, it shoved its way under the water and wriggled in happiness. Already, murky brown water streamed from its fur sending particulate down the drain in gritty swirls. Some of what he’d thought were darker spots were proving to be a stubborn layer of dirt.

 

“How are you this filthy? You’re much too healthy looking to have been homeless for long.” He grimaced at the rising smell of wet dog and methodically sprayed down the entire coat, the most obvious clumps of dirt falling free under the pressure. The bathroom is oppressively steamy, and he’s barely begun. With a sigh, he turned the faucet off and let the shower head drop back against the side of the tub.

 

“Time for the shampoo, you furry menace.”

 

At the sound of his voice, the dog stood stock-still in attention, alert to his next orders. Peter couldn’t help but find the response _gratifying_. He’d never given it much thought, but, as he poured out a handful of shampoo and began lathering sodden layers of dog hair, he realised this must be one of the many virtues of dog ownership. It was only unfortunate for his narcissism that it had to be literal puppy love. Probably the best thing for his continued good health. Talia’s already mentioned - and quite testily - that his overbearing arrogance made him intolerable for longer than an afternoon.

 

A sharp whimper broke him from his irritated fog. Apparently, he’d thoughtlessly caught up a handful of hair in his fist. Peter frowned at this small loss of control and soothed the animal.

 

“Sorry, dog. Thinking of my sister rarely brings any good.” He said in a stiff voice. “Though why you didn’t bite me I’ll never know.”

 

It merely wagged its tail a few times and butted up against his hand in what he could only take to be acceptance of his half-assed apology. “You’re such a weird dog,” he muttered, bewildered. “What am I going to do with you?”

 

After the accidental hair-pulling, Peter maintained his calm, and the dog washing was completed without any further lapses in control. Even when the dog fetched the shower head and doused Peter and the ceiling, he managed to contain his immediate impulse to _gut_ the wretched creature where it stood with its stupid doggy grin.

 

At least, it was _finally_ clean.

 

He and the dog endured the ordeal of the blow-dryer with minimal fuss, though towards the end, it began fidgeting and twisting beneath Peter’s hands.

 

“Stay still,” he reproved. “You’re almost done. If you’re good, then you can sleep in my room now that you smell more like me.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of his evening was surprising in its normality. Peter had honestly expected a pet to be more of an interference in his routine. He made dinner with the brief addition of feeding and watering the dog. He cleaned up the bathroom and showered. When he settled on his couch, he caught the last half of The Fifth Element while the dog continued its pattern of sticking to him like a large, furry barnacle.

 

Now, Peter was in bed with a book _and_ the still unnamed dog. Although he continued to banish it to the foot of the duvet, it gradually crept up again and again. The collie seemed to be under the mistaken impression that Peter wouldn’t notice so long as it moved slowly. Gamely, the dog wagged its tail at him while curled against Peter’s thigh.

 

“This doesn’t mean you’ve won.” He sighed as it turned huge, liquid eyes at him and whimpered. It was heartbreaking, or it would have been if the dog wasn’t obviously a lying sack of shit. Why was he constantly surrounded by charlatans and crooks? “Oh no. The eyes do not work on me. I’ve refused much more pathetic things than you. Why just last week I said no to Derek, and there’s no one more pathetic than him.”

 

The dog wormed up another few inches to press its face into his hip. It gave a few delicate licks to the jut of Peter’s pelvis and whined. When that didn’t work, it nosed its way into his shirt and licked up the line of his abs.

 

Strangely, Peter found himself wavering at the dog’s persistent desire to be close to him. He scowled down at the animal tangled in his shirt, but he knew it was for show. Brought low by a _dog_. How his sister would laugh if she could see him now.

 

He reached over to turn off the lamp, but the room was still bright enough for werewolf eyes. For the first time all night, he allowed himself the luxury of simply stroking the silky fur of its back and exposed flank; privately admitting that there was a vast, difference in the texture now that the dog was clean. “Well, this isn’t so bad,” he conceded, “but don’t think you can sleep like this every night.”

 

The lump in his shirt practically vibrated in joy and let out a soft whuff.

 

“I suppose I should give you a name. Any suggestions?”

 

The cheeky thing licked his nipple.

 

“None of that, now. I’m a virtuous man, and I’m hardly going to call you Nipple. _Think of the children_.”

 

Satisfied, it abandoned Peter’s nipple and sank down to gnaw on his hip with its tail thumping all the while.

 

“Don’t make me call you Leeloo.”

 

It made an odd questioning sound.

 

“Hmm.” He mused. “You did seem to enjoy the movie. What about Dallas or Ruby?”

 

It began to bathe the well-gnawed section of hip with its tongue with no indication that it had heard him.

 

“No? Well, you have a marked preference for my company. I should have remembered your discerning tastes. Perhaps something more cultural, since you seem to be a border collie.”

 

The long licks paused before carrying on with the business of covering Peter in saliva.

 

“What do you think of Nodens? You certainly have enough interest in licking.”

 

The dog actually sneezed on him before retreating back into his shirt. Peter dragged it out gently and scratched behind its ears.

 

“Stop stretching out my shirt,” he ordered. “I’ll take that as a no on Nodens. And I am really letting a dog help choose its name like some senile, cat lady.” He shook his head and muttered. “Perhaps Talia’s not wrong about me spending too much time alone.”

 

Affronted by the lack of attention, it nudged at his unmoving hand until Peter returned to the previous ear scritches. The dog whuffed happily and flopped over, exposing its belly in a blatant request. Peter chose not to ask himself why he was allowing an animal to give him orders, and went back to considering names.

 

“Grim?”

 

No response.

 

“Cù-Sìth?”

 

A brief whine.

 

“Gwydion?”

 

It covered its face.

 

Peter sniffed. “Everyone’s a critic. Robin?”

 

It barked.

 

“Hm. Was that a yes or no?” He waited for a reaction. “I’ll take that as a no. This is the last one before I name you Stupid. Don’t think I won’t. How do you like Puck?”

 

The dog, _Puck_ , reflexively kicked his hind leg as Peter’s fingers found the magic spot. He whined and twitched his tail in contentment.

 

“Good night, Puck. Any accidents, and you’ll be out the door before you can blink.”

 

Puck heaved himself up and padded to the unoccupied pillow at the head of the bed. He turned in a circle before flopping down, curled up close to Peter, and licked his face once before closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Peter slowly woke to insistent puffs of humid air caressing his partially exposed morning erection. It’s been longer than he’d care to admit since last being woken in such a manner. No man or woman could blame him for basking in the sweet moment before an imminent blowjob. Then the brush of a furry paw cruelly reminded him that he had not, in fact, brought home anyone except Puck.

 

He cracked open a bleary eye to confirm that the collie had not transformed overnight into a nubile, young thing ready to attend to his every sexual desire. No, it was still the damned dog two inches from his dick, _mocking him_. And now it was licking his palm, making it wet and sloppy.

 

Peter bit his lip and eyed his hard cock. There was no telling how long he’d been hard, but judging by his current level of tension it must have been a while. Who knew how long Puck had lain there watching? Was he the reason for his disheveled pajamas? Had he been attracted to the scent, wanting to be as close to the source as possible? As the image flashed across his mind, he was shocked to feel his cock jerk and pulse out a trickle of pre-cum.

 

“ _Oh, fuck it_ ,” he breathed out and gripped himself with his conveniently wet hand. Never mind that it was his left, he was ambidextrous - the product of an enterprising youth. His hand was slick enough for him to strip his cock with ruthless efficiency. He just needed to get off, and get this out of his system–

 

“Mother fucking little bastard!” He shouted as an inhumanly large, slick tongue swiped over the head of his cock. The sensation coupled with the sheer wrongness of the situation was too perfect, and he was helplessly coming across his chest even as he dragged the dog away from the mess.  

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, hands still shaking where they’re buried in the long, silky hair at Puck’s neck.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he repeated in a daze. “I just masturbated while a dog watched me. I just jerked off using his saliva for lube. I just had a _fantastic_ orgasm because a dog licked my dick… Damn it. Talia's finally right about something. I _do_ spend too much time alone.”

 

This time when Puck pulled away and whined, Peter let him go. It was too much trouble to muster indignation when he began cleaning the drying cum from his human’s chest. Peter may not have planned to commit bestiality when he woke up this morning, but he might as well enjoy the afterglow.

 

After breakfast and a shower, there would still be time for pondering the moral ramifications and scheduling a consultation with Deaton about his strange dog.

Because if Puck was a normal stray, then he would _eat_ every cashmere sweater in his closet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I included the links for some of Peter's attempts at naming Puck. Whoops.
> 
> Here you go.
> 
>  
> 
> [Nodens](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nodens)  
> [Grim](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_dog_%28ghost%29)  
> [Cù-Sìth](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cu_Sith)  
> [Gwydion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gwydion)  
> [Robin/Puck](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puck_%28mythology%29)  
> [Extra background on bucca or púca](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Cannibalinc,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalinc/pseuds/cannibalinc) and [Divenire,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divenire) and [Sociallyawkwardfangirl21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallyawkwardfangirl21/pseuds/sociallyawkwardfangirl21) for looking over this chapter. You're the best.

  


_Puck was a normal dog._ Peter stared at Alan in abject disbelief and not a little consternation.

 

Peter spluttered, “What do you mean, he’s a normal dog? He’s _unnaturally_ intelligent, in ways that normal training cannot account for. Do another test.”

 

The vet sighed and repeated himself in patient tones. “I mean exactly what I told you, Peter, and I’ve done multiple tests on him. Mundane _and_ magical. I’ve repeated them, at your insistence, and against my better judgment. Border collies are known for their intelligence. There’s one that was reported to know over a thousand words with no upper limit in evidence.”

 

He pointed dramatically at the dog lazing on the examination table, “Well, I’m telling you, Alan. This one _knows too much_. He knows what I want, sometimes even before I ask. _And_ he refused to behave with anyone else.”

 

“I can only help you so much, Peter. But…” Alan lifted a brow, “is there a _specific_ behavior that concerned you?”

 

Heat pooled at the base of his spine as Peter considered the _specific behavior_ from this morning. Specific behavior like his wake up call and the way Puck had tried to follow him into the shower. He’d sat outside whining and scratching at the door the entire time. It had _almost_ been enough to make him feel sorry for him. Then he remembered he’d allowed a dog to lick the cooling spunk off of his chest after giving him a toe-curling orgasm. The pity died pretty quickly at that point.

 

Not that he could explain any of this to the good doctor without disclosing certain _sensitive_ details.

 

His lips tightened when he felt the familiar wet slide of a tongue on his hand. Of course, Puck had crept over during the conversational lull to resume his favorite pastime.

 

“He does this all the time,” Peter ground out. If he weren’t a werewolf, then he’d be _wrinkly_ from the constant moisture.

 

Alan hummed. “Is this the behavior that has you so concerned?”

 

“Partially.”

 

The vet extended a hand to the dog busily giving his owner a tongue bath. To no one’s surprise, Puck didn’t deign to acknowledge the move.

 

“Hmm. Interesting.”

 

“Really. That’s all you have to say? I certainly hope you’re more useful as my sister’s Emissary.”

 

Alan allowed the hint of a smile to reach his lips. “Perhaps you were just lucky to come across him. He’s a beautiful dog, but I’ve always been rather partial to black tricolour. He’s very affectionate and clearly has some training. I can’t swear to it, but I think he’s a purebred border collie. If you’re interested in putting him out to stud, I can make some calls. I know some people who’d be interested even if without a pedigree.”

 

As he listened to the uncharacteristic spiel, Peter watched the vet’s eyes focus on Puck right as he growled at the mention of breeding. Almost as though he _understood_ the conversation and was insulted.

 

“You can’t tell me that’s normal.”

 

“Congratulations, Peter. It’s a boy.” The man had the audacity to smile at his own joke—which was in extremely poor taste if you asked Peter. “Give it some time. You just need to get used to one another, and I’m sure he’ll settle into being a house dog again.”

 

Swallowing down his irritation, he allowed Alan to usher them from the veterinary practice with reminders of Puck’s next appointment. The vet stopped him with a hand on his arm right before he stepped outside the door.

 

“Let me know if you’re interested in offering his services, and please give Talia my best.”

 

Peter scowled when he heard the quiet click of the lock turn behind him and addressed his comments to the animal attempting to herd him towards the car. “Fucking hack. You are the furthest thing possible from a normal dog, but I refuse to eat any of my sweaters—cashmere or otherwise—on _his_ word.”

 

In spite of the assurance that Puck was normal and “definitely not a monster”, Peter spent the drive home tensing his fingers on the wheel, incensed at the casual way his concerns had been dismissed. As per usual. Maybe he’d put more faith in the druid except there was too much of a precedent of the man not telling the whole truth. A positive trait if he’s ever captured by enemies of the Hale pack, but much less useful to Peter in the here and now.

 

 _Druids._ In his experience, they were never as helpful as rumor claimed. The whole lot of them were cryptic, tree-worshipping bastards.

 

Puck barked from his spot in the passenger seat, tongue lolling as he inched his way closer to Peter. He glanced over from the corner of his eye. The dog was vibrating in happiness at being back in the car, or possibly at being away from the vet. He really _was_ a smart dog—one of the only things Alan had gotten right today.

 

“And you,” he grumbled. “Don’t think all this excitement means we’re not going to discuss what happened this morning. I don’t care what he said. You can absolutely understand me.”

 

The only sounds from Puck were the soft panting and the wagging of his tail followed by some consolatory licks to his elbow. At least the dog had the sense not to attach itself to his hand again.

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course, that would be your response. Damned addict. I can’t possibly taste _that_ good.”

 

Puck gnawed playfully at the rolled up sleeve, encroaching on his space.

 

“Bad dog. Do not eat my wardrobe. I will feed you an entire steak when we get home if there are no holes in my shirt. It’s a good deal; I suggest you take it.”

 

Chastened, the dog flopped over the empty cup holders to lay its muzzle on Peter’s thigh in apology, nosing perilously close to his crotch. He glanced down at Puck resting there with tongue lolling and eyes shut. What would be the harm in letting him stay where he was? It could cause an accident if he started an altercation with his dog in a moving vehicle. He just needed to be quite firm with his boundaries once they arrived at home.

 

But once they returned, he had to put away the rest of the dog supplies he’d purchased. Then came feeding and watering both of them—with the promised steak since his shirt sleeve escaped its mauling unscathed. Peter may be a liar and a cheat, but even he wouldn’t _lie to a dog_ just to be cruel. Besides, he’d been meaning to test the efficacy of positive reinforcement.

 

Puck seemed to get the picture that nice things like steak and lap sitting came to good dogs and was on his best behavior all night. When the time came for Peter to tidy the kitchen, he lay by his water bowl instead of jumping around Peter’s legs begging for attention. Peter sat on the sofa running his fingers through Puck’s fur and watching reruns of BBC’s _What Not To Wear_ while the dog sprawled, content to listen to his snide commentary, until deciding to usher them towards the bed. It seemed natural to invite Puck under the covers to be pet while Peter caught up on any urgent email. No one could blame him for being half asleep with a dog curled at his back by the time he realized he’d forgotten all about having that talk about boundaries.

 

Joke was on the dog though, he was wearing sweatpants _and_ briefs tonight.

 

This time, when Peter woke up to hot breath and snuffling at his still covered dick, he shoved Puck away from the disgusting patch of drool he’d left on his crotch.

 

Peter grimaced at the way the wet layers of fabric clung to his skin, making his foreskin slide over the sensitive glans. His cock was hard enough to pound nails; all it knew was that someone or something wanted to touch it. No one could blame his cock for reacting to pleasurable stimuli, but people could and would blame _him_ for letting a dog bring him off. Once was a mistake. Twice would be something else. _That_ would be a choice. _That_ would be living down to the expectations of his family, and _fuck that_. If there was one thing Peter had mastered, then it was cutting off his nose to spite his face.

 

So Peter caught Puck’s face in his hands, looked straight into his liquid brown eyes, and snapped, “No, Puck. We don’t do that.”

 

Throwing back the blanket, he ignored his dog’s sad face and mournful whining while he peeled himself out of bed. Puck scrambled after him as he shuffled to the bathroom, but Peter was onto his game. He slammed the door shut before the dog could squeeze through the narrow opening. If he happened to jerk off to the sound of Puck whimpering and pawing at the door, then who was here to notice?

 

* * *

 

For the next few weeks, Peter’s morning alarm was a lapful of wriggling collie. One memorable morning, he received definite proof that Puck was exactly as smart as Alan had said. Instead of the usual lapful of dog, Peter had woken to the sound of tearing cotton. Puck was summarily banished from the light of Peter’s regard for the entire day and locked out of the bedroom that night. That was the only time Peter tried going to bed in elastic-waist sleep pants. Judging from the remains of his poor pajamas, the dog had taken advantage of the looser waist and ripped it right down the front. It was all about the buttoned lifestyle from here on out.

 

It wasn’t just the morning wake up calls. Puck followed him everywhere. They ate together. He’d watch tv with Peter and act like a live, furry foot warmer while he read or used the internet. If Peter was cataloguing or scanning records from the pack’s library, then the dog curled up next to him and never touched the book.

 

A few times a day, Puck would herd him outside whenever he felt the need to relieve himself or go for a run. Every time Peter had to piss, Puck sat impatiently outside the bathroom, tail thumping as though it was keeping time. God forbid, Peter take longer than five minutes in the shower, otherwise he’d be treated to incessant whining and canine crying.

 

The once pristine bathroom door was scarred with claw marks, but his water bill had never been so low.

 

In fact, Peter was in his whirlpool tub luxuriating in the first, long soak since bringing home an unplanned pet. It’s been too long since he could exfoliate properly, and he’s all out of fucks to give over Puck still suffering from separation anxiety if he hasn’t seen Peter once every five to ten minutes. He liked the dog more than he’d thought possible, but sometimes a man needed to pamper himself.

 

That simple wish had brought him to this moment: ignoring the piteous sounds coming from the bedroom as he scrubbed his perfectly formed pectorals with a natural sea sponge. Life was much too short to use synthetics.

 

“Puck. Please be quiet.” He winced as Puck’s crying hit a particularly _annoying_ pitch. “I’m almost done,” he lied.

 

Peter put his head back on the pillow, enjoying the steady pressure of the jets at his back. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

 

That was his first mistake.

 

He was so relieved at the drop in volume that he was willing to overlook the wet snuffling that had replaced the normal canine whining. At the sound of claws and teeth catching on the door, he grimaced, but it was still the lesser evil after the piercing assault on his sensitive werewolf ears. He’d developed the ability to tune out annoying background noise after long practice with his nieces and nephews, so Peter dismissed the snuffling and clacking as Puck finally accepting his human’s short, necessary absences.

 

That was his second mistake.

 

It was when he’d fully submerged himself in the tub that he heard the muffled crack of something metal followed by a startled yelp and a thumping of a body landing against the door. Peter shot out of the water, trying to detect pain in Puck’s heart rate or scent. Nothing seemed amiss, so what caused that reaction?

 

Frowning in confusion, Peter stepped out of the tub, and dismissed the need for a towel. He tried to turn the door knob. Nothing happened. Peter sighed. _Of fucking course._

 

“I knew your relative silence was too good to be true,” he muttered. “When I get out of here you’re in so much trouble.”

 

Puck yipped excitedly at Peter’s voice. He could hear the sound of claws catching against the wood as the dog jumped and pawed at the door.

 

“Well, I suppose it was past time to replace the door anyway,” he conceded. “You’ve made a fine mess of the finish already. I’m much too lenient with your destructive ways.”

 

Hands on his hips, uncaring of the way he was soaking the rug, Peter surveyed the problem. “Hm. I’ll give the hinge pins a try, but Daddy will be quite put out if he needs to break down his own damn door because you have separation anxiety and _broke the door handle_.”

 

The silence on the other side carried the distinct overtone of guilt.

 

One brow lifted at the quiet. “So you’ve decided to be good. After successfully interrupting my bath. You really are the most vexing creature. Now. Let’s see here…” he trailed off, wedging two claws under the head of a pin and gently popping it out of the hinge and made quick work of the other two. “Ah, ha! You should be grateful that I’m a werewolf and none of these were stuck, otherwise I might have been trapped in here for quite a while. And where would you be? Lost without me, I’m sure.”

 

Puck barked as if in agreement. At that ready response, he couldn’t suppress the smile hovering at the corners of his mouth and announced, “I’m coming out now, and I expect to see you appropriately penitent for your sins.”

 

With ease, he lifted the door and propped it between the counter and the toilet. It would be a safe enough spot until he could properly dispose of it. Perhaps Laura would want it for a session of hideously glittery craft time with her children. He was shocked out of contemplating the door’s fate when a familiar, persistent tongue dragged across the back of his knee and up his thigh.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed as the wet tongue traveled over his skin catching stray droplets of water. “This is the opposite of being a good dog, Puck.”

 

As usual, Puck ignored anything that didn’t fit within his worldview and kept exploring all the bare, wet skin he could reach. But it wasn’t enough. With a low growl, Puck jumped up and, using Peter as a prop to support his weight, he reached his prize. Carelessly humping and scrabbling against Peter’s thighs, he twined his long tongue around the hard cock at his muzzle. Peter fell back on the door he’d left propped on the counter, fumbling for a seat on the closed toilet lid without losing contact with Puck’s hot, slick tongue.

 

“This is such a bad idea,” Peter wheezed out.

 

For a brief second, he flirted with insanity. It would be so easy to go to the bed with Puck hot on his heels. _Hot on his cock._ He knew it would be good, too. Better than the orgasm from a few illicit swipes to his dick. Except he couldn’t stop the niggling feeling that if they went to the bed, he’d be everything his family thought of him. Dog fucker was a hard title to leave behind if anyone discovered his weakness. This would have to be enough. The last time and then no more.

 

That was his third mistake.

 

The dog gave no sign of being aware of his crisis of conscious, Puck had single-mindedly focused on Peter’s leaking cock, noisily slurping at the slick fluid trickling down the shaft, tracing over veins with teeth and tongue. Every pointed graze on his delicate flesh sent thrills shooting down his spine. This was without a doubt the most stupid and dangerous place he’d ever put his dick, and, in this moment, Peter refused to regret it.

 

He reached out and laid an unsteady hand on the silky fur between Puck’s ears, scritching lightly. “Oh, good dog,” he panted. “Just like that, boy.”

 

Puck’s whole body quivered at the praise, but the dog’s attention drifted from the still leaking cock head and down to the mess that had collected on and under the balls drawn tight against the base of Peter’s dick. Once they were shiny and clean of pre-come, Puck whined and snuffled against them, long tongue flicking Peter’s perineum in his failed attempts to reach his ass.

 

“Fuck,” he gasped in realization, gripping the fur under one hand and jacking his cock in the other. “Fuck, all right. Let me just move…” Peter leaned his head and shoulders on the cold tank, scooting his ass as close to the edge as he could, legs straining as he held the position. He didn’t have long to wait. Immediately, Puck buried his muzzle into the musky space, slobbering on the tight hole he'd shamelessly bared to his dog. He never thought that the contrasting sensations of a cold dog nose jabbing at his balls with the hot tongue lashing his hole would work for him; but it did. The cramp in his calf; the cold toilet tank; the silky fur brushing his thighs and under his hand; the canine tongue sneaking inside. The disparate parts became indistinguishable, creating a wholly unique experience—a strangely perfect combination.

 

“God damn it, I’m close.”

 

He bit his lip harshly, practically strangling his cock, as he alternated between petting and tugging Puck’s fur. If he wasn’t a werewolf, he’d be chafed raw from the ruthless way he’d been touching himself. The scent of their pheromones filled the small space in a dizzying cloud, driving his arousal higher, but he just needed a little more.

 

Furiously stripping his cock, Peter yanked hard on the long fur in his grip and shoved the dog closer, forcing its tongue to fuck him deeper. Puck growled at the burst of pain, the sound vibrating in the places Peter needed them most. It was exactly what he needed to trigger his orgasm.

 

“ _Oh, fuck_. You’re such a good dog,” he groaned as he came all over himself and Puck’s back. Unbothered by the mess, Puck pulled back slightly to lick at the softening cock. He slumped on the seat, knowing that the dog would be perfectly content to lap at the cooling cum for as long as Peter allowed it.

 

And that was the question. Would he – could he – allow it? In his life, he had wanted so many things. Most of them were out of his reach through the random chance of genetics, location, or family hierarchy. He rarely felt burdened by the ridiculous need to deny himself any unequal portion he could steal for himself, but this… this was a mistake. A mistake he couldn’t afford to make again. It would be an irrevocable step towards severing his ties with the rest of the Hales, and he might never be ready for that.

 

That night was the first of many that Puck spent locked outside of Peter’s bedroom, curled into a miserable ball with a paw wedged in the crack under the door.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time! Look forward to Peter trying to be a normal pet owner.
> 
> As ever, let me know if you noticed any mistakes or typos. Please tell me if you think that there's a problem with the tags.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to ride this gross train of bestiality and sin. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to finish, but here it is. (I'm not sorry about the daddy kink.)
> 
> AO3 really wanted to fuck up my formatting, so let me know if anything looks weird.

For what might be the first time in Peter’s life, he found himself engaging in the active effort to deny his desires. A misspent youth had honed his self-control, and he now had the ability to pull back or steamroll forward, leaving him with an unmatched versatility in any situation—unlike his dear sister. No, Peter had learned the value of moderation, sometimes at great cost, and it had been several years since he’d had to deny _himself_ anything he truly wanted. Yet that’s exactly the situation he found himself in with Puck. Regardless, he had made a decision, and by God, he was sticking to it. No matter what kind of sulky, puppy-antics Puck subjected him to. Sooner or later, he’d realise that Peter had taken a firm stance on all the dick touching. The intense horniness and fixation on Peter’s genitals was probably all due to hormones—the primal urge to breed—but Peter had a plan for that.

The bathroom incident had been a month ago, and the first step of his plan to avoid committing any more accidental bestiality would be enacted in a few minutes, as soon as Braeden No-Last-Name arrived with her dog. From his seat on the couch, Peter gazed down in disapproval at the dog sitting by his side in perfect obedience.

“You may be listening now, but I know your tricks. I want you to be on your best behavior when they arrive. You might even make a friend.”

Puck ran his tongue down the full length of Peter’s forearm in a slow glide. He supposed that was answer enough and sighed. Somehow it grew harder and harder to work up the proper amount of indignation for all the licking. “One day I’ll convince you that I don’t taste good. I appreciate that you want to cover me in your scent, but it’s hardly appropriate.” As though pleased by his admission, Puck crept forward on his belly, ever closer to Peter’s crotch. 

“Ah ah ah. _Stay._ ” He curled his fingers around the collar in a firm grip, mindful of the need to keep his strength in check. “Puck, you know better. This is why Daddy’s trying to get you a friend. Be a good boy.”

Peter’s _tête-à-tête_ with Puck was interrupted by the sound of a car turning onto his road and pulling into the drive. Before Puck could open his muzzle to bark a protest about the invaders, Peter put his hand on the dog’s head and fondled the soft, sensitive ears. “Now there’ll be none of that. Best behavior _or else_.” Puck’s head drooped in pleasure at the caresses, and his tail thudded in lazy enjoyment. He sprawled out on the couch, ignoring the approaching footsteps, as Peter stood to answer the door.

Braeden opened his screen door with a slight creak and gave three precise raps with the old-fashioned knocker that no one else bothered to use. The only people who visited were family and one-night stands, so everyone barged in without regard to his privacy or just followed him inside. Someone with basic manners was a pleasant change—even if it was one of Alan’s _friends_ and therefore dubiously moral at best. That only served as another piece of proof of how much Peter needed to cultivate his social life if he was feeling gratified over a stranger _knocking_ before entering his house. Yes, he thought with a backwards look at the dog happily puddled on his sofa, there were several reasons for bringing a stranger into his space.

Peter waited exactly long enough to make it seem as though everything was normal, fine. He was unhurried and had _not_ been lying in wait for her arrival. Then he plastered on his most charming smile as the unlocked door swung open.

_Well._ She wasn’t at all what he’d expected from someone in the Deaton and Morrell circle of acquaintances. Braeden was young and attractive, and her scars only lent an air of mystery. She bore her flaws in a careless manner, as though they were mere accessories to her natural beauty—and on her they were. This little meet-and-greet could be beneficial to all parties involved, in unanticipated ways.

His lips curled into a smirk—friendly with just the right amount of roguish charm. Any woman who wore her scars with such blatant disregard to outside opinions should appreciate a hint of some devil-may-care attitude.

“Won’t you please come in, Braeden? You and your dog—a beautiful animal, such a lovely red. I apologize for the liberty, but Alan didn’t tell me your last name.”

A delicate eyebrow arched, and the corners of her generous mouth quirked up at him. “Braeden’s fine, and this is Kimber.” She offered her hand to him and gave a firm, no-nonsense shake. Peter couldn’t deny his interest was piqued; assertive women had always been his downfall.

He spared a glance at her well-kept leather ankle boots. “Sorry, Braeden, but I have a no-shoe policy in the house. If you could leave them at the shoe rack? Puck’s very good about not mangling footwear.”

“No problem, Peter.” She stooped to tug off the boots and lined them up in the neat row of Peter’s shoes.

“Would you like a drink? I have water, tea, coffee…. I realize we’re only here to see if the dogs get along, but there’s no need to be uncivilized.”

“I’m not one who’ll say no to some coffee.” 

Peter paused. “Should we introduce them before I start the pot brewing? I’ve never chaperoned a dog date, so I’m not entirely certain of the protocol.”

Braeden laughed at his admission. “Alan and Marin weren’t kidding when they said that you didn’t know anything about dogs.”

He couldn’t help the instinctive bristling at her comment, and Puck, always attuned to his emotional state, made a sharp yip of query. Peter shook his head at the reaction. “Hush, Puck.” He reached down to soothe the dog’s brief upset, fingers playing through the silky hair of his shoulders. “It’s time you stopped being lazy and greeted Daddy’s guests.”

Puck cracked open one eye to survey the female interlopers and promptly yawned, showing off all his teeth. He shook himself, rolling over and into Peter’s touch, and made an elaborate show of ignoring the visitors who’d come for his benefit. If Peter wasn’t careful, this sort of marked preference for his attention—his touch—would go to his head.

“Hmm. Is this normal for him, or are we just special?” At least, she had a sense of humor about being dismissed by a dog.

Peter frowned. “In truth, this _is_ better than when we found him at the park. He wouldn’t stop growling at anyone who came near him. That is, anyone except for me. Then he stuck to me like a fuzzy burr. Refusing to acknowledge you is a definite improvement from the original aggression.”

She made a wry face. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not paying you for stud services and I don’t give a damn if he has a pedigree. If I cared about that, then I wouldn’t be here. For all I know, he’s a cryptic merle. There’s no good way to be sure until after the puppies are born. More importantly, I’d prefer a more friendly animal. Kimber’s the sweetest dog I’ve ever had. Puck’s temperament leaves a lot to be desired, but this could be down to him living rough before finding you. Alan _did_ say that he exhibited signs of excellent training.” Braeden’s tone of voice made her continued doubt over Puck’s friendly nature clear as glass.

Peter rose to the implied criticism. “Yes, he did. He’s exceptional. A more intelligent dog I’ve never seen.” He gestured to Kimber who was nosing at Puck to join her on the floor. “It looks like they’re getting to know each other now, so how about that drink?”

Braeden gave him a decisive nod, “Sure, but I should probably keep an eye on things here. You never know if things will take a bad turn.” She waved a hand at the pale, raised scars on her throat, “Where do you think I got these? _Werewolves?_ ” Her smirk came right to the line of the acceptable side of mocking.

Peter’s shoulders stiffened at the reference, but he forced himself to relax. Whether or not it was a joke, it didn’t matter. He had to trust that Alan would not send an enemy to his door. Though he disagreed with the amount of information that Talia shared with her Emissary, he had not betrayed them—not yet. Still, this Braeden bore careful watching. If he was able to finally fulfill his need for companionship at the same time, then so much for the better. Forcing his earlier flirtatious smile to his face, he stroked Puck’s soft fur to ground himself and stood from the couch. “Let me see about the coffee. How do you take it?”

“Black with three sugars, thanks.”

Puck let out a sharp whine at the sight of Peter walking away from the living room and tried to follow him. Peter sighed. Of course Puck refused to allow Peter out of his sight when strangers were in their den and posed a possible risk. His loyalty was commendable, but such poor training in front of guests couldn’t be tolerated. Not unless Peter wanted to lose more of his tenuous hold on the alpha position in their little pack of two. Puck almost always obeyed, but it was clear he did it to humor Peter—and for the steak.

“No, Puck. Stay.” Peter pointed at Kimber and Braeden. “Be good.” Puck rolled over and whimpered piteously, hiding his face with his paws. Heart softening, Peter had to crouch down and drag his hand over the dog’s exposed belly. “Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

“Hmm,” Braeden said in contemplation. “You’re not half-bad at this doggy daddy thing.” She grinned. “I didn’t expect you to be such a softy about him. It makes you seem less like a dick.”

It was easier to return her smile in the face of compliments, edged though they may be. His lips curved automatically as he stepped towards the kitchen, this time with no interruptions. With a casual nod, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back with the coffee.” 

Out of sight and in the kitchen, Peter felt the unconscious tension unspool from his neck and shoulders. He jabbed the start button on the coffeemaker, pleased with his superior planning in preparing the filter and grounds before Braeden’s arrival. This little solution was proving somewhat more stressful than he’d imagined. Peter settled into the calming, domestic motions of watching the coffee percolate and setting up the mugs with their proper amounts of cream and sugar (and half a shot of caramel syrup in his though he was loathe to admit his sweet tooth). He had just stirred the coffees when the unmistakable and annoying sound of Derek’s text tone reached his ears. Peter plucked the phone from his pocket and scowled. There were two messages from Derek; it looked like the first that had been sent twenty minutes ago was only now arriving along with the second.

**Derek: Mom needs the Hosch Compendium if you’re done making copies.**

**Derek: ETA five minutes**

It made sense that his dear nephew chose now to call on him. Derek always seemed to have a sixth sense of when Peter was about to get a date. Like clockwork, Derek would appear from the ether as Peter’s own personal torment to meddle in his flirtations and obliviously steal his dates. Peter blamed the sum total of Derek’s awkward charm, good looks, and leather-filled wardrobe (but mostly he blamed the leather).

Resigned to his fate, Peter made a third cup of coffee, bitter and black as Derek’s cockblocking soul, and left it in the kitchen. Explaining the third mug would be too difficult if Braeden was ignorant of their supernatural status. He returned to the sight of Kimber trying, and failing, to groom Puck as Braeden watched with careful attention. She seemed almost _wary_ as she studied Puck, and the wheels began to turn in Peter’s mind. _Alan._ Always with a plan hidden in a plan that would reveal yet another plan before all was said and done. Peter would commend the man, if he weren’t so frequently a thorn his side.

_Fucking Druids._ They could never tell you their thoughts or plans in plain English. They kept their cards so close to the chest that it was a wonder that _they_ even knew what hands they had to play. It wouldn’t occur to Alan that it might be courteous to give Peter a heads-up on Braeden’s spy mission—her goal was likely to observe and report on Puck’s behavior. It seemed that Peter’s arguments _did_ trigger Alan’s suspicions—despite his explicit assurances that Puck was normal. Alan, who gave him the all-clear on the dog as a non-supernatural entity, now had the gall to send someone to infiltrate his house to spy on the animal. 

After living together over a month, Puck was more than a simple animal to him. Peter had to admit he felt a protective sort of affection for the little cock-gobbling menace. Perhaps this was the closest thing to fatherhood that Peter would achieve in his life.

He passed Braeden’s mug to her with a subtle brush of fingers across her palm. If Derek insisted on ruining everything with his precipitous arrival, then perhaps he should strike while the iron was hot. There was a subtle art to achieving the perfect inclination of head and calculating the precise angle of lips that would express charm rather than smarm, and Peter had spent years cultivating the skill until it was second nature. Every time he pulled another unwary person into his orbit, it both gratified and repulsed him. It was sickening how people were so prepared to believe in an attractive façade. So when Braeden didn’t move to instinctively mirror his body language or acknowledge his interest beyond an appreciative perusal of his physique, it fanned his earlier spark of interest. 

As she took the first sip, Peter had the option of either bold or subtle staring, but faint hearts never won fair maidens… or moved on from an inappropriately sexual relationship with a dog. Bold it was. “I hope the coffee is to your liking?” 

“It’s fine. Better than the usual swill Alan keeps at his office.” Braeden smirked and tipped the mug back, taking several long swallows as Peter watched in rapt attention. If she knew his nature, as Peter suspected she did, then she was aware that no werewolf could interpret such an act as anything other than a brazen flirtation. Peter ignored the clink as she set the mug down on a coaster, staring at her neck without a hint of shame. However, when she flicked her tongue out over her lips, catching a stray drop of the dark liquid, he zeroed in on her motion—transfixed by the flawless red of her lips.

“Who am I to stand in the way of a beautiful woman and her caffeine fix? Perhaps you’ll come over again… and Kimber, too.” Peter gestured blindly to the dogs. 

“They seem to be getting along well enough.”

“Maybe we will.” Braeden hummed in consideration. “Puck’s still a little standoffish. It surprises me how well-trained he is when his behavior is so _unusual_ …. ” she trailed off and shot a meaningful look at the way Puck barely tolerated Kimber nosing and pawing at him. “Most male dogs his age would show more interest in my girl here. _Especially_ with her heat coming soon.”

Peter bristled at the sly tone. The implication was clear. “Perhaps,” Peter licked his lips, “his interests lie in another direction.”

Her lips parted in surprise, then she laughed, low and throaty. “Are you saying your dog might be gay?” Braeden ran her eyes over Peter, lingering at his neck and hands. “Is that something he learned from his daddy?” Her smile went a little crooked at that.

As Peter opened his mouth to answer, they were interrupted by a sudden, vicious growl. He almost didn’t have the presence of mind to catch Puck, tangling his hands in the collar when the dog lunged and snapped at Kimber—out of patience with her incessant attempts to groom him. He growled, low and menacing, at Kimber and even Braeden she edged closer. It seemed that he’d reached his limit of socializing—and sharing Peter—for the day.

“What’s gotten into you now?” Peter scolded. Truth be told, it was mostly for appearances’ sake. He’d seen and understood Puck’s growing annoyance with Kimber but had hoped it was simply from being unused to other dogs and people. Most of the last month had been spent in the relative isolation of Peter’s house and yard. 

Puck continued to growl, hackles raised threateningly until Braeden pulled Kimber to the other side of the living room. With a whuff, he shook himself free from Peter’s loosening hold and jumped into the man’s lap. Whining, he buried his face in Peter’s stomach.

“Hey now, Puck,” Peter soothed, lightly placing a hand between his ears. “It’s okay, boy. Daddy’s got you.” He raised his head to look at Braeden. “He’s really never done this before. I’m sorry about that.”

“No harm done.” But this time, her smile was a little too fixed to be sincere. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to try again. At least not with Kimber, and if he didn’t like her, he won’t like any of my other dogs. They’re much more rambunctious than she is.”

“Oh,” Peter paused, his hand slowing along with his thoughts. “Perhaps I was a little hasty, attempting to arrange something like this.”

Braeden didn’t even look up at him from where she was petting her own dog. “He was a stray for who knows how long. He seems to be fine when it’s just you. It shouldn’t do any harm to let him act the lone wolf for a while.”

_Lone wolf._ Of course, she would use that term. Peter would eat Derek’s ridiculous, oversized leather jacket if she was out of the supernatural loop. The two of them sat in relative silence, soothing their jittery dogs, when someone pulled into his driveway and stomped up to the door. All he had to do was think of his nephew, and he turned up like a bad penny.

The door swung open—the family never could learn to knock—to reveal his scowling nephew. Derek wasn’t even in a bad mood; it was simply his resting face. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of an attractive woman in Peter’s living room, and his scowl deepened into something genuine.

“I didn’t know I’d be interrupting something.”

Peter waved his free hand in an airy motion. “Oh, I thought I’d see if I couldn’t find Puck some company.” And maybe some for himself while he was at it.

“Just let me know where the book is, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Braeden cocked her head as she treated Derek to the same slow appraisal she’d given Peter. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Peter?”

He gritted his teeth. “Of course. Derek, this is Braeden and her dog Kimber. Braeden, this is my nephew.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek. You said you needed a book?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “My mom sent me over since I was in the area.”

“Aww.” She grinned. “That’s sweet.”

The tips of Derek’s ears went pink. He shrugged his leather-clad shoulders. “It’s my mom.” It was that kind of talk that proved his nephew would always be a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

“Derek, why don’t you come sit next to me while Peter grabs that book for you.” She raised an eyebrow to him, as though in challenge.

Clearly, Cockblocker Derek had struck again. There was nothing for it but to put on a pleasant face. “Of course, I was just about to do that.” Peter eased out from under thirty pounds of clingy border collie. “You’ll need to keep on eye on Puck while I’m gone. He was quite upset with Kimber a few minute ago.”

“Sure, Peter.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m sure your ‘baby’ will be fine for the two whole minutes you’re gone.”

Even with those reassurances, Peter hurried to his office and kept an ear out for any sounds of distress. He chose to tune out the embarrassing excuse for flirting going on under his roof. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Braeden if her type was awkward mama’s boy in leather. Ah well. There was always the next time. Peter hadn’t exhausted the contents of his little black book.

Now where had he left the Hosch? Anything with a lurid green cover shouldn’t be this hard to find. He gave a cursory glance through his desk drawers and the files piled on his outbox. A few minutes later, he still had nothing, and his house was suspiciously quiet. Finally, he found it on the shelf with his permanent collection. Peter had just tucked it under his arm, ready to kick Derek, Braeden, and Kimber out of his house, when his living room exploded into a cacophony of yelling and excited barking. Peter did not run, but he was willing to admit to power-walking back to his company. 

The first thing that hit him was the pungent scent of dog urine. The second thing was that Derek was yelling while Puck cowered by the shoe rack. This situation was _unacceptable_.

“What the hell is going on here? I leave you for a few minutes, and I come back to chaos while you are _yelling at my dog_.” He snapped his fingers and stared down his shamefaced nephew. “Answers now, Derek.” Then he dropped the book to the coffee table and crossed the room to kneel by Puck, shivering in his puddle. “Aww, puppy. It’s okay now. Daddy’s here, and the mean man can go away. Isn’t that right?”

“You can’t be serious, Peter! Your dog just pissed all over Braeden’s boots. I thought he was housetrained.”

“Was this before or after you started yelling at him?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Derek grumbled. 

“And yet,” Peter intoned. “I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

“He left the couch almost as soon as you went to the office. Then he made a beeline for the shoes and started chewing on hers. When I tried to take them away, he peed on them. _And me._ ”

Peter cupped Puck’s sad, little face in his hands. “Is that true? Did you pee on my nephew?” Puck made a questioning sound in the back of his throat and crawled forward until his head reached Peter’s lap. He gave a welcoming lick to the side of Peter’s wrist before turning over, exposing his belly for pets. When Peter hesitated, he let out a few soft whines that had his owner caving in. Peter scritched up and down the silky belly, cooing nonsense as Puck’s leg kicked in reflex.

“I can’t believe you’re rewarding that kind of behavior,” Derek hissed in scandalized tones.

“Well,” Braeden drawled. “This has been interesting, but those were Italian leather. I’d like to know what you plan on doing about that, Peter.”

He sniffed. “Naturally, I’ll take responsibility and replace them, but all this excitement has upset Puck quite a bit. I think it’s time for everyone to leave.”

“Unbelievable,” Derek grumbled, moving gingerly in wet denim.

“That’s one word for your uncle.” She aimed a saccharine smile at Peter. “Please. Forget you have my number. I can deal with lots of things, but not guys who actually think of their pets as their children.” With those words, she stood and grabbed Kimber’s leash and Derek’s arm. “Derek, I would love to get to know you better. Why don’t you follow me back to my place? We can throw your pants in the wash once we get there.”

“Uhh.” Derek froze, paralyzed under her attention. “But I don’t have extra pants.”

Braeden smirked and gave him the full force of some intense bedroom eyes. “I’m sure we can think of something to do while we wait.”

“Oh.” He paused. “That sounds great. Let me just grab this, and we can go.”

“Excellent.” Barefoot and dog leash in hand, she sashayed out the door like she owned the place. Peter watched her leave, still a little impressed with her. Then he looked to Derek, standing around like a slack-jawed yokel in jeans that stank of urine. _Maybe not._

“Do give your mother my regards, and try to give me more warning before you drop by on one of her errands.”

Derek scoffed, “Whatever, Peter. I never thought I’d say this, but you’ve gotten worse. Maybe you and that dog were made for each other.” With a huff, he stomped out, squelching the entire way.

Peter surveyed the mess and sighed. It reeked of piss and dog and fear. Thankfully, Puck had accurate aim and only hit Derek and the boots, but it was the principle of the thing. “Daddy is very disappointed, Puck. Those shoes were at least $300. Couldn’t you have kept it to Derek?” Puck whuffed in ecstasy under his hand as Peter tsked. “I just can’t stay mad at you. You really are the best dog I could have found.” Puck wriggled and barked as though in agreement. “All right now, puppy. Let’s get you cleaned up. Bath time, Puck. Go to the tub.” After a slight shudder, Puck sprang up, gave him a few parting licks, and bounded down the hallway. Shaking his head, Peter levered himself to his feet, ruined shoes in hand. “I swear you think I’m made out of chocolate.”

First, he’d grab the cleaning supplies and have this mopped up in a few minutes. Then he’d see to Puck. Honestly, these temper tantrums, bathroom accidents, and puppy eyes reminded him of all the time he’d spent as free childcare for Talia. He needed something more out of his relationships… maybe he’d give some thought to his options. There were plenty of old friends he could call since Braeden hadn’t worked out. 

A plaintive bark jarred him from his thoughts, and he shook his head. There would be time enough for personal concerns later. A father’s work was never done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that Peter isn't the most reliable narrator and has some issues with Derek that I'll get into later.
> 
> All this pity for Peter cracks me up. I'm just like... he's trying not to fall in love with or fuck a dog. Does he really deserve sympathy? 
> 
> Chapter four: See Peter continue to draw inappropriate parallels between dog ownership and fatherhood as he tries not to fuck his dog-son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I turned around once, and suddenly it's been six months since I updated. Whoops.
> 
> Okay, everybody. Lots of stuff happens here. Embarrassing sex, sensual peanut butter consumption, AND Peter finally gives into his baser urges.
> 
> There's also mention of Peter's other sexual partners. I don't list anything in the pairings because none of it constitutes a relationship, and the date/interrupted sex is clearly not where Peter's mind is focused. TBH, it was pretty hard to write the date scene because I was full of second-hand mortification.
> 
> Pib made a cover image for the fic! It's adorable and terrible, and I love it.

After the unfortunate misstep with Braeden and Kimber, Peter enjoyed a week of joyfully wriggling dog waking him up in the mornings—sans bestiality. Clearly he could be taught new tricks, and Peter certainly didn’t miss the sloppy, wet heat or the lewd sounds of Puck lapping at his cock or empty hole, not at all. He didn’t miss it in the slightest or ever jack himself to those memories. Peter would swear to it in a court of law.

It just so happened that Peter was a shameless liar who would commit perjury on a whim.

As he sat at his desk, with a dog lurking in the kickspace in front of his chair, the now-familiar weight of Puck’s head rested on his right thigh, gusting hot breaths directly on his groin. Peter prayed to any listening deity that he could make it through this ordeal without embarrassing himself.

“That’s right,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “You’re being such a good boy while Daddy works.” He reached between his legs and ran his hand over the back of Puck’s neck. He ignored the way his dick jumped when he looks down at Puck’s little blissed out face so close to his cock. Puck’s tail began thumping out a rhythm on the floor in response to Peter scratching the sensitive spots behind his right ear and under his collar.

“You’re Daddy’s sweet little puppy. Yes, you are,” cooed Peter without a care for his dignity. There was no one to hear him, and it was his business how he coddled his dog. He’d learned to save his shame for the big things like mismatching his blacks or committing bestiality. Besides, seeing Puck’s happy face made all the accidental boners worth it, just part and parcel of a father’s sacrifices.

Puck whined in pleasure when Peter stepped up the scritches, now using both hands. He slumped on top of Peter, pressing his nose into the warm space right over Peter’s femoral artery. Peter fancied that Puck could probably hear or feel the way blood rushed through his veins and drew some form of comfort from the intimacy and evidence of his packmate’s health. Peter knew that was why he’d done the same thing to his mother when he was a small boy. Talia and their father had never quite approved of the closeness between them, or her willingness to bare such vulnerable spots to another predator—that he was her child was irrelevant—but Rhiannon had doted on Peter, the unexpected child of her twilight years.

“Talia didn’t understand how Mother could do that. Not until she had children of her own. She never seemed to trust me, but I always knew that there are some bonds you shouldn’t betray.” Puck’s tongue lolled out as he slitted one eye open. “Just like I know you’d never hurt me, would you, baby boy?”

Puck arched into the continued petting and whuffed at him in disagreement.

“No, you’re a good, loyal puppy. You’d never hurt Daddy.” Peter sighed and shifted painfully. “Except with blue balls.” Peter grimaced when Puck perked up at the mention of balls.

“You have a filthy mind,” he muttered in reproof as Puck’s lazy cuddling became a bit more _active_ and _exploratory_. “I don’t know what sort of rabble taught you such things, but it certainly wasn’t me.”

The dog paused, nose poking perilously close to Peter’s half-hard cock, and cracked his eye open further in an unmistakable side-eye.

“No more pets for you then. Such disrespect to Daddy,” he chided and gave Puck a gentle push away from his groin. “Off with you now.”

Puck whined, high and distressed, but Peter held firm. “No, Puck. I have to make some calls, and you’re very distracting.” Peter pointed to the hallway beyond the office’s open door. “Be a good boy, and go play.”

At Peter’s decree, Puck whimpered and gave him the saddest, most pathetic puppy eyes possible. It was a good face. It made Peter’s chest feel warm and squishy, so he softened his countenance enough to smile and ruffle Puck’s ears. “No, baby. If you’re good, Daddy will let you have peanut butter later. So you can play now or have kennel time.” The word “kennel” had barely escaped Peter’s mouth before Puck shook himself and rushed to his feet, almost skidding in his hurry to avoid time in Puppy Folsom.

Smiling at Puck’s ridiculous aversion to the luxurious kennel Peter had purchased for him, he turned back to the desk and picked up his phone, humming absently. Braeden may not have worked out, but perhaps someone he already knew, someone amenable to a night of no-strings-attached fucking. Then he could finally work these embarrassing urges out of his system.

Peter thumbed through his contacts list, pondering the options. Chris was always a good choice, but he only came as a matched pair these days, which was more than Peter felt like dealing with at the moment. As much as he liked Victoria, the type of power exchange she favored left him with less than he really wanted right now. Speaking of matched pairs, there went two more of his sometimes playmates. Deucalion had finally succeeded in winning over Melissa’s son: the one condition to her accepting his proposal. (Peter wished Deuc the joy of raising a teenaged werewolf.) Unfortunately, they’d only had eyes for each other in recent months, and Peter suspected that monogamy might be the name of the game and not just a symptom of the honeymoon period.

Surely his little black book wouldn’t fail him in his time of need? Piqued, he started the list over at the beginning, resolving to be less selective on this second pass. And _oh_. There it was—the answer to all his problems. Smirking in anticipation, Peter hit call.

* * *

A bit over two hours ago, Ennis had shown up at Peter’s door dressed in well-fitting grey slacks and a silk pullover in deep burgundy. Despite the shaved head, Ennis had always cleaned up more than nicely. He’d even brought Peter a pink pastry box tied with a ribbon. Upon offering it for Peter’s inspection, Ennis had winked and said it was “for later”.

Well, that little quip had certainly guaranteed his attention. Perhaps Peter’s narcissism was at fault, but he had always favored overconfident assholes to his own detriment.

With such an auspicious start, Peter had entertained moderate hopes for the rest of the evening and been pleasantly surprised. Dinner had been delicious and the company more enjoyable than Peter recalled Ennis ever being. Perhaps he’d written off his personality to easily. After all, the alpha had a huge dick and knew exactly how to swing it… if memory served him right.

Peter was hoping that his usually impeccable memory had not failed him in this minor detail.

Ennis stretched one of his muscular arms and laid it across the back of the couch, curling it around Peter’s shoulders and drawing little circles on his revealed collarbones. “You know,” he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle Peter’s temple, “I was surprised when you called me tonight.”

“Oh really?” Under Ennis’ gaze, Peter arched his back with studied laziness, allowing the collar of his shirt to slip, exposing more of his chest. He gave a little wiggle and pressed back against the man’s arm and side, reveling in the blatant appreciation on Ennis’ face.

Before his date, Peter had warned Puck to be on his very best behavior. There would be no growling or threats or peeing to interrupt the evening. Now, the little beggar was approaching, head lowered in deference to the two on the couch. Puck yipped twice and put his forepaws on the couch, so he could drop his empty Kong on Peter’s lap. Task done, he sat back on the floor beside Peter and waited expectantly.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Peter’s mouth, and he leaned forward, away from Ennis. “I suppose you want your promised peanut butter?”

Puck’s tail wagged in acknowledgement, and he rubbed his face on Peter’s knee.

“Okay, Puck. You’ve been very good today.” Peter turned to Ennis, briefly resting his fingers on the man’s thigh. “Let me take care of this little boy, and I’ll be right back with dessert.”

Ennis settled himself back on the cushions and grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

In the kitchen, Peter took a few slow, deep breaths before opening the peanut butter and spooning some inside. His steadily filling cock told him that he was playing with fire. Giving Puck the Kong was a terrible idea while he had company over—company with a sensitive werewolf nose who would assume that Peter’s arousal was related to whatever they were doing on the couch, not his dog. Peter should accept that he had a one way ticket to hell. He knew it was depravity in its most concentrated form… but the way Puck devoted himself to licking the peanut butter out of the orifice was nothing short of inspiring.

With a supreme act of self-control, Peter willed away his disgusting thoughts and surge of hormones. Somehow he found the fortitude to plate the pretty slices of tiramisu that Ennis had brought. Satisfied with the arrangement of the decorative (and delicious) chocolate curls, he put the plates on a tray and picked up the Kong. Prepared to sublimate his dog-fucking urges with Ennis, Peter returned to the living room as a morally superior being, someone who didn’t get erections from memories of his dog enjoying a totally innocent treat.

Peter almost missed a step when he saw Puck curled up in his spot on the couch, allowing Ennis to pet him.

“Did you _alpha_ my dog into liking you?”

“Only a little bit.” The man sheepishly looked up at Peter and shrugged. “I like dogs, but you weren’t so wild about them the last time I checked.” Ennis gestured towards the Kong. “Now Peter Hale’s turned into a man who fusses over his pet. Never thought I’d see the day.”

He set the tray down on the coffee table and shook the Kong at Puck. The dog eagerly leapt down from the couch and sat on his haunches, trembling in his eagerness to take the toy from Peter’s hand, but he maintained position without begging or licking Peter even once.

“Good boy,” praised Peter. “Here you go, baby. Enjoy your treat.” Puck lunged for his hand, giving it a few cursory licks before succumbing to the call of peanut butter. Prize clutched in his jaw, Puck trotted over to his seldom-used cushion and fell upon the Kong. Puck was quick to burrow his agile tongue into the narrow opening, licking and gnawing at the sticky filling, blissfully unaware that the two werewolves couldn’t block out the sounds of awkward suction that came from his corner of the room.

“I guess you could say that I found an exception to the rule,” replied Peter as he settled back into the curve of Ennis’ arm and passed him a plate of cake. He suppressed a shiver at one particularly filthy-wet slurp.

“Oh yeah?” Ennis asked with interest. “Does that mean you have exceptions to your rules about dating?”

Peter took a greedy bite of his tiramisu. Sweet cream and coffee flavors burst on his tongue, supported by the bite of the bitter chocolate and liquors. He hummed in thought as he swallowed. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

An obvious heat in his eyes, Ennis appraised the length of Peter sprawled on the couch by his side. “I’m gonna have fun convincing you.”

“You always did.” Peter laughed and fed Ennis a bite of tiramisu. “Where did you get this? I haven’t had any this good in years.”

“Mmm. That’s a secret. Maybe I could tell you if we were dating.”

“You do drive a hard bargain.”

Ennis barked out a laugh. “You’ve always been too pretty for your own good, but you wouldn’t be interested in someone who couldn’t… _negotiate_. Not even when we were teenagers.”

For the first time tonight, real interest sparked in his gut, and his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you do know me better than I thought.” Peter smirked. “You weren’t nearly this interesting the last time I saw you socially.”

“What can I say?” Ennis asked rhetorically. “I’m an alpha with layers.” When Ennis reached out for the empty plate with a determined glint in his eye, Peter let him take it. “Now that we’ve had dessert, and you’ve got your puppy settled…” Ennis drew Peter closer, so he loomed over him. Teeth snapped, nipping the spot over Peter’s adam’s apple. “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Peter sighed out, chin tipped up in invitation. “Follow me.” He took note of the way that Puck’s head shot up from seeking the last vestiges of peanut butter to give him a weirdly worried look, but then Ennis was kissing him again and slipping a huge hand under the hem of Peter’s sweater.

They made their way down the hall, bumping into everything on the way because Ennis couldn’t seem to keep his hands or mouth off of Peter if his life depended on it. Finally, they stumbled through the door of the master bedroom, shirts askew and gasping for breath. Peter had just enough presence of mind to remember to close the door behind them before Ennis tossed him on top of the turned down covers.

As shameless as ever, Peter slipped free from his cardigan and threw it towards the hamper as he wriggled out of his tight pants. Peter’s eyes flashed at the man, shirt hanging limply from his hand as he stared. A satisfied smile crept over Peter’s face. “You’re still wearing far too many clothes, Ennis.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, baby. I’ll be right there.” Ennis dropped his shirt and shoved down his pants, revealing that he’d chosen to go sans underwear tonight, but the presumption could be forgiven since Peter’s memory hadn’t failed him. That was a seriously impressive erection, and he’d like to have it in his mouth _immediately_.

Peter sat up and crawled towards the edge of the bed as Ennis prowled closer. The moment he came within reach, Peter put his hands on Ennis’ hips and tugged him down to lie against the soft sheets. “Alpha,” he moaned, rubbing his cheek along the muscles cording Ennis’ thighs. “Let me suck you.”

A hand landed on top of Peter’s head, huge and heavy and warm, guiding his mouth to the head of Ennis’ cock. “Yeah,” Ennis grunted. “Suck me down with that pretty mouth.” His head fell back on the pillows when Peter’s lips parted over the tip, already dripping pre-cum. “God, you’re so good at this. Prissy bastard.” The hand gripped his hair harder, holding him down to meet powerful thrusts. “Is this what you wanted? Were you missing alpha dick?”

Peter moaned around Ennis’ girth, unable to pull off and answer the asinine question, but it seemed that Ennis wasn’t looking for _words_. Conveniently, that worked for Peter too. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in the unmistakeable scent of clean, soapy skin and arousal. Peter bobbed his head, spit escaping the tight seal of his lips as he forced himself to swallow more of Ennis, until he almost choked; so he held on, grimly determined to relax the back of his throat to take it all.

It had been a long time, but his body still remembered how to do this… and it responded to the harsh stimulus with the arousal Peter had counted on. Before long, tears and spit ran freely. The process was messier than he preferred, but there was only so much he could control when he was literally gagging on a cock.

Ennis was groaning and twitching beneath him. His grasping hands had slackened in pleasure, and now they rested quiescent on his hair and face, gasping broken praise and stroking at Peter as though he was a beloved pet that had performed well. But power could take on surprising guises, and he was not the one who’d lost the war. Peter could ask for anything from Ennis and be assured of his answer. It was almost disappointing how easy it was to bring an alpha werewolf to heel through such simple machinations.

Slowly, Peter pulled off the thick length, working his tongue along the vein as he travelled. With a soft pop, he released suction on the head and flicked his tongue against the slit, licking away the steady flow of pre-cum. He glanced up through his lashes, allowing a hint of preternatural blue to shine through.

“Peter,” Ennis gasped. “ _Fuck_. You’re killing me, gorgeous.”

Whatever Peter had been about to say was interrupted by a sharp bark at the bedroom door. Startled, he sat up and turned, brow furrowing. Soft scratching underscores the unhappy whines, and Peter found himself up and moving without conscious thought.

“I’ll be just a moment,” he tossed back to the man on his bed. Peter knelt and opened the door, the better to catch Puck when he darted through the opening. The moment there was enough space, Puck shoved his way inside and claimed Peter’s lap, licking him all over with a peanut butter-scented tongue. “Oh, shhhh,” Peter soothed, stroking the heaving flanks. “It’s okay, puppy. Daddy’s right here. You can calm down now.”

“Seriously, Peter? He’s not really your kid.” Ennis muttered, probably annoyed at how quickly he’d been displaced, but Peter ignored him with aplomb.

“Don’t be like that, Ennis. You’re a guest, but Puck lives here. He should feel comfortable and secure in his own home.” Peter didn’t look back after that, but the powerful air of disbelief emanating from the bed told him exactly how Ennis felt about this interruption. Instead he focused on the adoring dog who had assured himself of Peter’s presence and was now intent on shoving his cold nose into delicate places, such as Peter’s partial erection. “No, Puck!” Peter caught Puck’s muzzle in both hands, preventing the dog from getting too far into third base (again). “We don’t do that. Now I want you to be a good boy and stay out while my friend is here.” He pet Puck one last time before standing. “Go to the living room.”

Whimpering and clearly reluctant, Puck slunk out of the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

Peter tipped his head back in a display few werewolves could resist and smiled at Ennis. “I’m sorry about that, alpha” he apologized with charming insincerity. “How can I make it up to you?”

“No more interruptions.”

“Of course not.” Peter angled his face down as he approached the bed again. “That was a one time thing.” He watched in satisfaction as the stiff lines of irritation melted away from Ennis, replaced with interest in Peter’s submissive performance.

“I suppose I could forgive you this once.” Ennis narrowed his eyes in consideration. “You want to make it up to me, pretty?”

“Yes,” breathed Peter. “Anything.”

“Then get your ass over my lap. You’re going to be red and squirming before you get another taste of my cock.”

“Ohhh. Yes, alpha.” Peter crawled across the bed and lay across Ennis’ thighs, rocking his hips teasingly where the alpha’s stiff cock strained upwards against his weight. “Let me be good for you.”

Those huge familiar hand were warm as they stroked and kneaded Peter’s unmarked flesh. His cock twitched a little in excitement. Finally, Ennis was going to do something halfway interesting. Peter moaned in encouragement, “Please, alpha. I need it.”

“I’ll take care of you, babe.”

The blows rained down without further warning, all loud cracks with little bite. He doubted that Ennis was even hitting hard enough to leave bruises. The spanking wasn’t meant to hurt. Peter would have gone to someone else if he’d wanted pain. This was about the symbol, the appearance of yielding, and Peter had long since learned how to yield while surrendering nothing of value. So he went pliant in Ennis’ hold, and cried out in reaction to the momentary sting of each spank.

Ennis rumbled, “You’re barely even pink. I think you can take more.”

This time, when the alpha’s hand landed, Peter startled and yelped. Safely hidden from Ennis’ sight, Peter rolled his eyes at the typical porn dialogue, but he arched into the blows, savoring the beginnings of real discomfort. “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “Forgive me, alpha?”

But Ennis ignored his plea and increased the force behind the spanking. Which was right when a loud thump rattled the door. Peter whipped his head around just in time to witness the tricoloured blur that streaked across the room and bounded up onto the bed.

The next few seconds were a flurry of growling and flailing limbs—all over Peter’s prone body. He permitted the ridiculous posturing, a small, soft part of him pleased that Puck was willing to protect his master; but then Puck bit the hand Ennis had placed at the small of Peter’s back. In that instant, they all felt the change in the air as the scent of rage suffused the room.

Peter wriggled out from under the hand pinning him and grabbed Puck, retreating to the other side of the bed while narrowly avoiding Ennis’ clawed hand.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Peter demands with his arms wrapped around his trembling, snarling would-be protector. “He’s hardly more than a puppy, and he thought you were hurting me.” His lip curled. “An _alpha_ should have better control.”

“Peter,” Ennis reached out with a claw-free hand. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit that we were in a sort of… charged situation for anyone to come in on. And then he challenged me.”

“Yes.” Peter scooted farther away. “My _dog_ challenged you. I’m sure it was all very threatening. So you can take your fragile alpha ego and get the fuck out of my house like I said. Or do I need to interrupt Deucalion while he’s bonding with his new family?”

Ennis fumbled back from Peter as though he was on fire. “No,” he agreed hastily. “I’ll just go.” His shoulders sagged as he climbed off the bed. “I like you, Peter, but you’re the prissiest bastard alive and treat your dog better than most people I’ve seen you with. Call me if that changes.” Ennis gathered his clothes and dressed in a quiet that was only punctuated by Peter making soothing noises at the distressed Puck.

As Ennis reached the doorway, Peter sighed and let go of Puck. “Stay here, Puck,” he ordered as the dog shifted with him. As Puck subsided, Peter grimaced at the evidence of another failed assignation. “You have to know that I didn’t intend the evening to end so poorly.”

Ennis snorted. “Peter, give me a little credit. I might not be your first choice for a booty call, but not even you would plan something like this.”

“True enough.” Peter ran a hand over Puck when he whined. “No hard feelings?”

“After all this? I don’t think _hard_ is remotely close to how I’m feeling.”

Peter made a disgusted face. “Oh fuck you very much. That was horrible.”

The alpha leaned back against the doorframe and gave him a crooked grin. “I think I deserve it.” Ennis shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t expect you to call any time soon. Have a good night, Peter. I’ll lock up behind myself.”

Peter listened as Ennis made his way through the house. The keys jangled and were replaced in the bowl, then the front door closed with finality.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” he scolded Puck. “I was enjoying that spanking you know.” Puck nuzzled his hip and licked at the drying sweat. “Oh fine. The sex would have been mediocre and the dirty talk abysmal, but at least with a cock that big there’s no way to miss my prostate.”

Puck looked up and made a questioning sound. Somehow he managed to look affronted.

“You’re a terribly judgemental dog.” Peter rolled over and dropped his face onto his crossed arms. “I suppose I should clean up in a few min—ah!” he cut off with a gasp as Puck chose that moment to lap at his ass. It was still hot and slightly tender from the spanking, so the texture and temperature of Puck’s slick tongue was oddly soothing. That was Peter’s only excuse for sagging into the sheets, legs relaxing and spreading for Puck as he climbed in-between Peter’s thighs.

Under Puck’s ministrations, Peter let his mind drift. It was almost as good as a massage to have Puck patiently trail over every inch of exposed skin on Peter’s ass, replacing Ennis’ scent with his own.

In that drowsy, dream-like state, Peter reached for a pillow and wedged it under his cock, hard and sticky from the attentions of his pet. Why had he even been fighting this so much when it was so easy, so natural to give in to what they both wanted? Why should Peter be relegated to a life of unsatisfying sex when he could have his heart’s desire so easily?

Hips raised up, near-dizzy with anticipation, Peter waited for Puck’s next move. “Come on, puppy. Let Daddy help you.” He stuffed another pillow under his hips, and reached back with one hand to locate Puck’s unsheathed dick. He shivered as he gripped it, rubbing his thumb across the tapered tip. Puck whimpered and surged forward in Peter’s hand. “Shhh. I’m gonna help my good boy.”

With slow, sure movements Peter eased Puck to his raised hips and directed him to tuck his cock in the space between Peter’s clenched thighs. “That’s it,” he moaned as Puck realised that he was in something he could fuck. “Good boy.”

Puck’s long fur clung to Peter’s sweaty skin as he fucked into Peter’s thighs with short, eager thrusts, rubbing his dick against Peter’s balls and the base of his quickly forming knot, rocking Peter closer to orgasm with every move. Nothing with Ennis had felt nearly this good, and he couldn’t imagine how it would have.

Maybe this was something he could have? No one ever had to know. It would be Peter and Puck’s little secret, something for father and son.

“Ah,” Peter cried as Puck lifted his forepaws to Peter’s back. He went faster, rougher. Peter’s thighs burned from the friction, but Puck’s knot was forming, and Peter was a hairsbreadth from shooting off like a boy. “Ugh, yeah. That’s it, Puck,” he gasped, tightening his thighs. “Knot Daddy like a good boy.”

Almost as though he understood the invitation, Puck’s knot took hold and caught despite his frantic animal rutting, and he spilled out his watery release, marking Peter’s cock and balls. The sharp scent fresh semen, of _Puck_ coming on him, was all it took. Peter shook through his orgasm, limbs rigid from holding back his full knot, as he locked down around the spurting length between his thighs. Blankly, he tensed and relaxed his muscles to simulate the clenching of penetrative sex, waiting for Puck to finish.

Eventually, the flood slowed to a trickle. Puck’s knot shrank in less time than his own would have. He hopped down from Peter’s back and tugged himself free from Peter’s newly slackened thighs. It came as no surprise this time, when Peter felt Puck crouch behind him to lick their combined mess.

“Good boy,” he muttered, strangely free from guilt. “Is this what you want, Puck?” A wet nose pokes at his balls, shifting them out of the way. “Is it?”

Puck yipped excitedly then returned to his self-imposed cleaning duty. “Just you and Daddy from now on?” Peter pressed, feeling ridiculous about trying to get consent from a dog. Especially given how the same dog had to be bribed into not making sexual overtures to him.

In answer to his question, Puck devoted his attention into trying to coax Peter’s cock out of his foreskin. Despite having just come, it was surprisingly effective. Peter’s breath caught at the painful pleasure of too much too soon. He rolled onto his back and covered his face with a spare pillow, untainted by sexual fluids.

“You’re right. We’ll hammer out the details later.” Overjoyed by free access to so much bare skin, Puck rubbed his face in Peter’s sticky groin, tickling Peter with his silky fur. “That’s Daddy’s good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only did some vague edits on this chapter in the hurry to push it out the door, so let me know if you see something that shouldn't be there.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who was hoping for an update on this. I managed to get this done in a few days, so we'll see how long it'll take to write the next chapter.
> 
> Next time! Look forward to Peter figuring out how to romance his dog.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please let me know if you noticed any typos or think I should add tags. Thanks for reading!  
>  
> 
> **Warnings and setting notes**
> 
> Dub-con because Peter doesn't know that the dog is a shapeshifter and because he fully believes that he's taking advantage of a dog (or he will in future chapters). At this point, Peter and Stiles aren't truly capable of informed consent.
> 
> Bestiality because Stiles is a shapeshifter who's taken the form of a dog for reasons to be explained. Things are going to get pretty uncomfortable in regards to the bestiality. It will be very clear in future chapters that Peter has feelings for his pet. He'll experience some conflict over that, but it will not be enough to stop him.
> 
> In this universe, the Hale fire didn't happen. Everyone is alive except for Kate; she was killed by Peter for her plot to murder them all and for manipulating Derek. This will be mostly irrelevant. Yes, they're in Beacon Hills. No, that's not where Stiles is from. Yes, Stiles will regain human form. Yes, the relationship will continue after that. Yes, I'm choosing to call it a relationship even now. I'm fully aware of how problematic it is, and so is Peter.


End file.
